Dream A Little Dream Of Me
by Evelyn True
Summary: The Doctor is plauged with dreams of Amy, but can't bring himself to act on any of them. Can one night make everything between them change? An Eleven/Amy fanfiction.


"_Ah, now there's a delusion I'm not responsible for!" The Dream Lord smirked, casting a glance slightly towards the Doctor. His face showed no emotion, his eyes drifting down towards the floor. An averted gaze. The sign, thought the Dream Lord, of a guilty man._

"_No, no he is. Isn't he Amy?" In the darkness of the dead TARDIS, Rory felt a rush of insecurity. The Doctor swore he felt Amy inch just barely closer towards him; but perhaps she was only shrinking away from the Dream Lord. Amy didn't respond, only flicked her eyes towards Rory, and then back again to the Dream Lord, as though brushing Rory away with a toss of her hand._

"_Oh, Amy. You've got to sort your man out. Choose, even." The Dream Lord taunted, eyes wide with faux simplicity. _

"_I have chosen! Of course I've chosen!" Amy sputtered. The tension in the room maximized by a tenfold. The Dream Lord's beady eyes caught the Doctor awkwardly looking about the TARDIS. Away from the man who loved Amy. Away from that truth, perhaps? _

_Rory looked momentarily puzzled, worried even. Without taking her eyes off the Dream Lord, Amy hit Rory in the chest with one arm._

"_It's you, stupid!" She exclaimed. _

"_Oh, okay. Good." Rory breathed, relieved. The Dream Lord watched closely, a smirk dancing across his fleshy face. The Doctor. He seemed submissive, so the Dream Lord thought. But his eyes glinted with something darker. Barely noticeable, really. But it was there. Amy. She didn't look at Rory, not once. Focused, it seemed, solely on keeping things at equilibrium. Not favouring the Doctor, not favouring Rory. Ah yes, Rory. The poor chap was like a kicked puppy. Wounded by his owner, but the second he was patted on the head again, he came clipping at her heels once more. _

_With a sudden zap, the Dream Lord fizzled out in front of the trio, then re-appeared behind them, sauntering about the TARDIS._

"_You can't fool me. I've seen your dreams. Some of them twice, Amy. Blimey, I'd blush! If I had a blood supply. Or a real face." Amy looked panicked, Rory looked confused (not an unusual occurrence, it seemed to the Dream Lord), and the Doctor , well, the Doctor decided it was time to stop this madman in his box._

"I've seen your dreams. Some of them twice, Amy." The Doctor muttered to himself. It was dark in his room on the lower deck of the TARDIS. The ship was drifting safely in a quiet stretch of galaxy, sprinkled with stars too far away to pose a threat. Below the controls, the Doctor had a room all to his own. Sparse, spare, and simple. Just a single bed on the left side of the room, big enough for two comfortably, and a small night table next to it. A leather journal and a lamp were all that the night table had to offer. And now, after this most eventful day, the Doctor laid on top of his bed. Braces loose, hair mussed, and lips pursed into a ponder, he recalled their first conversation with the Dream Lord and sighed. It wasn't fair that a manifestation of his darker side could make him suffer this way. It wasn't fair that this Dream Lord could put his deepest wishes on display for his two companions. He couldn't control that any more than he could control his feelings. Sometimes it felt as though the TARDIS was the only thing he could control.

_Amy. _Seeing her with Rory made him feel as though someone had punched him in the gut, hard. Seeing her settled down happily with this idiotic ponytailed man in his own worst nightmare today, that made him feel as though a part of him had died. A part that he couldn't regenerate. It wasn't his first brush with these utterly human emotions, but they had never felt quite like this. That is to say, they had never felt as though things wouldn't turn out all right for him. Crash landing in Amy's garden was an accident, and at the time he had little interest in a seemingly normal seven year old child. But the crack in her bedroom wall, and the unusual number of empty rooms in her home intrigued him. By the time he returned - _Many years later, though I said five minutes. And goodness knows, she's never let me live that down. _- she had grown, blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Now she intrigued him for a different reason all together. _Amy. _So full of spunk and vivacity. Never mind her appearance, which was indeed beautiful, it was her character that got him. She made him forget how lonely things could be. Sure, he once had Rose. He had loved Rose. But now, the human version of his tenth incarnation was living out a mortal life with her, happily in love in an alternate universe. Leaving him to wallow in his wandering loneliness. The Time Lord never got a chance at love. The Time Lord never got a chance at true, romantic love. Only humans got that privilege, it seemed. _Amy. _He had fallen for her, and fallen hard. In his bed he clenched his fists, cursing his nature for always liking the human girls. _Especially the human girls who were already taken. _

The Dream Lord was merely a projection of his longings. Of his wishes and his deepest fears. Only the Doctor could be this cruel to himself. Only the Doctor could make himself suffer this way. The Dream Lord teased him, pretending as though he had seen Amy's dreams and that they spoke of him; only to break his heart by showing him his two worst nightmares: a world where Amy had lived happily ever after without him, and a world where he could do nothing to save the woman he loves. _It was no small wonder that the Dream Lord appeared now_, he thought as he rolled over to face the wall. Since taking Amy aboard he had been plagued by dreams of her. Beautiful, wonderful dreams of her and him, together, that became sorrowful and gut-wrenching dreams when he awoke, only to remember that those glorious scenes could never be. _It can never work between you two. She doesn't love you! Get yourself together, man.  
_The thought of these frothy fantasies floating freely inside his mind was too much for the Doctor. He stood from his bed and ran one hand through his cockamamie hair, and opened the door out into the hallway. The atmosphere seemed cooler than inside his room as he tread down the hallway. He peeked inside one room, just a short way away from his own. There was Rory, sprawled out over his one small bed, drooling slightly. Sound asleep after such a grueling day, it seemed to the Doctor. After all, Rory had died, then come back, then nearly frozen to death, then come back again. The Doctor clucked his tongue, half wishing that Rory had never existed at all. But supposedly, he made Amy happy, and that was all the Doctor wanted. All he could ever want, really. He closed the door over quietly, then tip-toed to the opposite end of the hall. Amy's door waited there for him, standing tall and ominous. He couldn't go in there. He just couldn't._ How could I tell her how I feel if she already has someone? I couldn't. _Turning on his heels, the Doctor hurriedly clamored up the metal stairs into the control room on the main floor. The TARDIS lit up in anticipation of his arrival. He walked into the room and gave a small smile, rubbing his hands together as he paced about. His legs came to rest in front of the controls, his hands poised on a pulley. But he couldn't think of anywhere or any time to go. No where struck his fancy. Usually, he used Amy as his inspiration. There were billions upon billions of things in this universe and throughout time to show her, to dazzle her, and he wanted to show her them all. He wanted to take her on a picnic by the Eiffel Tower in Paris, then to a cabaret show during the height of the Moulin Rouge. _She'd love the can-can dancers. Knowing Amy, she'd want to join them. _He wanted to take her to the frigid cold of the American state Alaska in the 1800s, to see the rainbow Northern Lights. _She'd adore that. She might get cold, but I'd hold her. She'd let me. _He wanted to bring her to meet Leonardo Da Vinci while he painted the Mona Lisa. _That'd be good, didn't she say once that she loved Italians? _He wanted to go on a moonlit stroll with her through the English countryside, then meet up with Jane Austen for tea. _Amy doesn't seem like much of a reader, but Jane at least matches her in spirit and wit. _He wanted to show her the ends of the universe, all of the things that could never match her own beauty, but still blow her mind. Sighing deeply, he let his head rest on his hands in front of him. _Oh, Amy Pond. _He thought, fiddling his fingers on the pulley. _I love you, you silly girl. I love you. _He wanted to scream for how badly he wanted to be with her. He muffled a frustrated grunt as his knuckles whitened on the controls. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift back to his dreams. His dreams of his Amy.

Often, he dreamt of their first kiss. That wonderful, achingly bittersweet kiss in her childhood bedroom. Really, it should have stopped him from kissing her back, the fact that they were in her old room. He should have remembered innocent, sweet little Amelia , and pushed grown-up Amy away. But he didn't. He just couldn't. She grabbed him, and he went into sensory overload. Both of his hearts beating much fast than they ever had or ever should. She smelled so sweet, like honeysuckle and something otherworldly, like the faintly sugary scent of real stardust. The tactile pleasure of her lips on his, the friction and mutual pressure and the slightest dancing of her tongue sliding across his bottom lip. His hands knotted in her lovely, lovely hair. Her hands, one placed firmly on the side of his face, the other tracing a trail down his firm chest and abs. The tiny orchestra of sound created by his noise of surprise as their lips collided, her slight moan of pleasure, and the familiar sound of moist lips. He would have kissed her forever, _could _have kissed her forever, but he had to push her away. It wasn't right. She was Amy, and she was getting married tomorrow. _Well, Amy's tomorrow, anyway. _He still believed fully that she was only kissing him because she didn't know better, because she missed Rory or because he had just saved her life. He never thought that she truly could feel deeply for him. _Not possible, not possible, _his thoughts screamed. So he pushed her away, gently but with intent, and ended their embrace. It was everything he could do not to join her on that bed when she beckoned. Thank goodness that revelation of the cracks in time came when it did, otherwise, he may not of been able to control himself. By the time he could see himself gazing at Amy on that bed, eyes filled with adoration and hopeless wishing, he woke up. The dream ended. The pillar of saddened realization sunk into his upper abdomen.

The Doctor opened his eyes and blinked. His hands trembled on the controls. These dreams were always highly realistic, and highly distracting. His throat felt like it was closing in, so with trembling hands he reached up and un-tied his bow tie. _Damn these dreams, as though it wasn't bad enough that I suffer every second of the waking day. _Letting one hand run limply over his lips,he squeezed his eyes tight again, remembering the time he had dreamed of their wedding day. Rubbish at weddings, he had always been rubbish at weddings. _Especially my own. _But the memories of his Gallifreyan wedding day, and his family that had perished, were long faded, with little to no emotion attached. _Funny how that works. I don't feel attached to them, anymore. When you lose them, you feel as though you'll never love again. Then you blink, and it's like they never meant anything to you. _He breathed deeply and closed his eyes again. He saw it there in his head for the first time since the night he dreamt it: standing in front of her in a chapel somewhere in a foreign galaxy, an alien minister presiding. She looked like an angel, draped in white lace that hugged her curves modestly. The room was bathed in a glowing white light. As they stood before the minister, she reached up and playfully straightened his bow tie, winking at him. He could practically feel his insides melt. His hands were steady and sure as he slid the ring onto her finger, a glittering gold band to match the engagement ring already placed there, all shining gold and dazzling diamonds, taken from a fabled cliff on Planet One. She smiled, that radiant smile that he had come to know and love, and slid a matching ring onto his finger. The minister nodded, and he took her in his arms. She gazed up at him, and briefly touched a lock of his hair pushed over his ear. She smiled again, and they kissed. A lovely, poetic kiss, sweet and passionate at the same time. When they pulled apart, he gently traced the side of her face with the back of his index finger, gliding over those adorable freckles and beautiful ivory skin. His face broke into a rare, joyful smile. And then came the part of the dream that always killed the Doctor. As they turned to leave the chapel, the Doctor swore that he could really feel Amy slip her slender hand into his, and weave her fingers throughout his.

It felt as real as any time he had ever held her hand before, but different. Her fingers held his tightly, not out of fear or necessity, but out of pure trust. Pure, timeless adoration. Every time he dreamed of this, he always awoke gasping for breath and drenched in a cold sweat. _It was real, it had to be real. It was so real. I couldn't have dreamt anything that realistic. _But every time, the same reaction. He awoke alone, and no matter how hard he wished, Amy was not next to him in their bed, watching him sleep. _Never has been, never will be, _thought the Doctor now, wiping sweat from his brow. _I'm killing myself like this. The more dreams I revisit the more awful I feel. _But somehow, he felt as though he had to keep going. Keep remembering these dreams. If these images and sensations while he slept were all he'd ever have of Amy's heart, then he knew he'd better remember them for as long as possible. Although Time Lords have impeccable memory, dreams tend to be slightly fuzzier. Not to mention the fact that the Doctor had an equally impressive ability to repress things. If remembering these sweet dreams would make him closer to Amy, even momentarily, then he could bear the pain of waking up.

As his hearts' rate returned to normal, he let go of the TARDIS controls, letting the ship drift safely once again. _Didn't have anywhere for her to go, anyway. _The Doctor strode over to the TARDIS doors and snapped his fingers. The door flew open, exposing the wide expanse of universe before him. It was mind-blowing, how beautiful his surroundings were. _And even though I know all of time and space, every star there ever was , even I can appreciate this. _He gazed out at the ribbon of shimmering stars that stretched across the darkness, the colourful leg of a galaxy that spun out a few light years away. _I wish Amy could see this._ The thought furrowed his brow as he eyed a hazel-coloured planet bathed in golden light, close enough to see and yet far enough to admire. _Reminds me of Amy's eyes. _The Doctor shook his head and ran a hand through his hair once more. Leaning against the door frame, that familiar feeling of nostalgia swept over him. _How can I feel nostalgic about something that has never occurred? _He rubbed his temples. The wedding dream didn't just end there. Sometimes, if the torment of her blessed touch didn't drive him mad, he would let it continue longer.

Sometimes, he dreamt of her in bed with him, and that was the most painful and blissful dream of all. The deepest physical desire of the Doctor was to make love to Amy. Not fuck her, not have sex with her, because those words implied physicality without love or meaning or any sort of emotion at all. He wanted to make love to her. To kiss her, caress her, pleasure her, fill her, love her with everything that he is and everything that they could be together. In these dreams, he swore that he could feel her body pressed against his. Skin against skin, the weight and pressure of her naked body on top of his. Their hips bumping together, the scene bathed in the same godly white light as the chapel in earlier dreams. Sometimes he could feel his own arms wrapped around her, as she languidly kisses him. If he was lucky, he could sometimes feel their bodies become one, feel their rhythm, hear her little sounds of ecstasy, feel his own hands touch her so softly. When they were finished, he could see her roll over and smile at him, rubbing her hand up and down his sheet-draped side lovingly, and he could feel himself smile images and sensations filled him with the greatest sense of happiness he had ever known. _We're together. Minds, bodies, hearts, souls, all of it, we're together. _To be on the deepest emotional and physical level of connectivity, that was his greatest wish. To make her his wife, to let her feel how much he loved her, would be his greatest pleasure. Throughout the cosmos, he could scarcely recall anything he had ever desired more. Amy was different. Amy was special.

The Doctor opened his eyes once again. He was surprised to feel wetness on his cheek; startled to notice a single tear sliding down his face. He batted it away, and stared out at the open space that expanded before him once again. It was a beautiful night in the middle of the universe, a beautiful night indeed. The Doctor clenched his fists and shook uncontrollably, feeling the sorrow of loneliness grasp him tightly. _She would never dream of me. _He gasped for breath and gained control of himself once more. _No more of this. You're the Doctor. You have a universe to show that amazing, beautiful, fiery, adventurous, adorable Amy Pond. She's not missing this. _With new resolve, the Doctor grinned, and ran to Amy's room in the deck below.

Carefully, he pushed open the door. She was sleeping perfectly still on her back, hands folded precisely, like a storybook princess. The Doctor gazed at her. How many times had he played this scenario in his head? He dreamt of walking into her room, late at night, and watching her sleep. He'd push back a lock of hair from her face, she'd open her eyes, and smile. "Hi." She'd say, and make her devastatingly cute sleep-y face. He'd smile back. "Hi." He'd respond, and then lean down, look her in those gorgeous eyes, and kiss her. But not tonight. Tonight, she was sound asleep, with no idea he was even in the room. _Probably dreaming of Rory…_The Doctor winced. Suddenly, Amy tossed about in her sleep. The Doctor jumped, and removed the sonic screwdriver from his pants pocket, just in case. Amy smacked her lips together slightly, and murmured a name in her sleep.

"Doctor…."

The Doctor stumbled backwards, more than slightly dumbfounded. She had spoken of him. Amy had spoken of him. _Amy. _She was dreaming of him. He waited a moment, then several moments, to see if she was still asleep. She didn't stir again, only murmured once more, "Doctor…". _She sounds content. Happy, even. It's as though she's having sweet dreams of me. _He thought, excitedly clasping a hand over his mouth. _Is this really happening? Amy Pond. Amy. My Amy. The loveable Scottish transplant in an English village, the lively young woman who found a home in my TARDIS, the blessed, the striking, the scintillating Amy. Could it be that's she's waited for me? Could it be that she hasn't chosen Rory at all? _The Doctor nearly cried again with joy. He chuckled slightly to himself as he tip-toed over to her bed. Her rosebud lips were just parted, her eyes tightly shut. A lock of fine ginger hair draped over her right eye and part of her nose. The Doctor lovingly moved it aside and tucked it behind her ear. To his utter amazement, Amy stirred. She blinked her eyes open and focused on him. _Her eyes. Those lovely, lovely hazel eyes. Far more beautiful than any planet or any star. _

"Hi." She whispered, smiling gently and raising her head clumsily to look at him.

"Hi." He smiled back. He took one hand and raised it to her chin, tilting it towards him slightly. "Amy Pond, the girl who waited, you've waited long enough."

Amy's eyes sparkled with pleased confusion, her lips pursed into a smile curved upwards with anticipation. She breathed in quickly, taking in his scent. She always did think that he smelled lovely, like fabric softener. Slowly, the Doctor leaned in towards her, gazing at her, then kissing her full on the mouth. He felt a moment of sheer terror before Amy's mouth slackened, her lips opened more, and she returned the kiss gently, but surely. Tingles of excitement shot through his body as the kiss became more passionate, even more thrilling than their first. She ran her fingers over the buttons of his beige coloured shirt, then over his shoulders as he urgently placed his hands on the side of her delicate face. Suddenly, they broke apart.

"What? What is it? Did I do something wrong?" The Doctor fumbled over words, too happy to speak and still too nervous that she might reject him to stop talking.

"No! No, you're…you're perfect." Amy responded hastily, her lips bending into a smile. "It's just…it's funny, I was just having a dream about this."

"Funny," Grinned the Doctor as he felt her fingers lace through his. "So was I."


End file.
